When we get home from the airport, we drop our bags on our bedroom floor and collapse onto the bed, propped up on our elbows while Xavi unfolds Katy’s list on his pillow. He grabs his marker pen from the nightstand and uncaps it, chewing the inside of his cheek as he crosses out number nine. Get a tattoo. “I like that we got something for all three of us.” He smiles softly, holding our arms out to study the matching ink on the insides of our wrists. “She probably thinks we’re fuckin’ saps though.” I scoot closer to take his hand, gently running my thumb around the small, wonky heart at the
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